The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1887-04-16
VOL. XxII.-NO. 90.


burial we went to the sanctuary to pay our
only token Of respect for the aged stranger;
for we felt that we could give her memory
tear, even though her own children had
none to shed
''She was a good mother in her day, and
toiled hard to bring us all up-she was no
comfort to herself, and burden to every
body else 70 These cruel, hcartless words
rang in our ears as we saw the coffin borne
up the aisle. The bell tollcd long and
loud, until its iron tongue had chronicled
the years of its toil-worn mother. One
o-three-four-fve How clearly and
almost merrily each stroke told of her once
peaceful slumber in her mothers bosom,
and of her seat at nightfall on her weary
fathers knees. Six-seven-eight-nine
ten rang out the tale of her sports upon
the green sward, in the meadow and by the
brook. Eleven-twelve-th -thirteen-four-
teen-ffteen, spoke more gravely of school
days and little household joys and cares
Observation-Disclosures, soundedout
the enraptured visions of maidenhood, and
the dream Of early love- Nineteen brought
before us the happy bride. Twenty spoke
of the young mother whose heart was full
to bursting with the new-strung love which
God had awakened in her bosom. And
then stroke after stroke told of her early
womanhood--of the love and cares, and
hopes, and fears, and tolls through which
she passed during those long years, till
fifty rang out harsh and loud From that
to sixty, each stroke told of the warm
hearted mother and grandmother, living
over again her own joys and sorrows in
those of her children and children's chill
dren. Every family Fall the group wanted
grandmother then, and the only strife was
who should secure the prize; but hark the
bell tolls on Seventy y-seventy-one-tw
-three-four, she begins to grow feeble,
requires some care, Is not always perfectly
patient or satisfied; she goes from one
childs house to another, so that no one
place seems like home She murmurs
plaintive tones, and after all her toll and
WEAKNESS, it is hard she cannot be allowed
home to die in; that she must be sent,
rather than invited, from house to house.
Eighty-eighty-one- o-three-four-
ah, she is now a second child-now "she
has outlived her usefulness, she has now
ceased to be comfort to herself or any
body" that is, she has ceased to be profita-
BILE to her earth-craving and money grasp
ing children.
Now sounds out, reverberating through
our lovely forests, and echoing back from
our chill of the dead, eighty-nine there
she now lies in the coffin cold and still
she makes no trouble now, demands no
love, no soft words, no tender little offices.
A look of patient endurance, we faneied
also an expression of grief for unrequited
love, sat on her marble features. Her
children were there clad in weeds of woe,
and in an irony we remembered the strong
mans words, "She was good mother in
her day."
When the bell ceased tolling the strange
minister rose in the pulpit His form was
very erect, and his voice strong, but his
hair silvery white. He read several pas
sages Of Scripture expressive of Gods COM
passion to feeble man, and especially of his
tenderness when gray hairs are on him, and
his strength faileth. He then made some
touching remarks on human frailty, and Of
dependence on God, urging all present to
make their peace with thsir Master while
in health, that-they might claim his prom
ises when heart and flesh should fail them.
"Then, he said, "the eternal God shall be
thy refuge, and beneath thee shall be the
everlasting arms. Leaning over the desk,
and gazing intently on the. cofined form
before him, he then said reverently: "From
little child have honored the aged; but
never till gray hairs covered my own head
did | know truly how much love and SYM
pathy this class have a right to demand of
their fellow-creatures. Now feel it. Our
mother, he added most tenderly, 'swho now
lies in death before us, was stranger to
me, as are all these her descendants. All
| know Of her is what her son has told me
to-day-that she was brought to this town
from afar, sixty-nine years ago, happy
bride-that here she has passed most Of
her life, toiling as only mothers have
strength to toll, until she had reared a
large family of sons and daughters
she left her homo here, clad in weeds Of
widowhood, to dwell among her children;
and that till health and vigor left her she
lived for you, her descendants
"You, who together have shared her love
and her care, know how well you have re-
Quilted her. God forbid that conscience
should accuse any of you of ingratitude or
murmuring, on account of the care she has
been to you of late When you go back
to your homes be careful Of your words and
your example before your own children,
for the fruit of your own doing you will
surely reap from them when you your
selves totter on the brink Of the grave.
entreat you as a friend, as one who has
himself entered the 'sevening of life" that
you may never say, in thepresence of your
families nor Of heaven, "0ur mother has
outlived her usefulness-she was burden
to us" Never, never; a mother cannot
live so long as that! No; when she can no
longer labor for her children, nor yet care for
herself, she can fall like precious weight
on their bosoms, and call forth by her help
lessness, all the noble, generous feelings Of
their natures.
"Adieu, then, poor toil-worn mother;
there are no more sleepless nights, no more
days of pain for thee. Undying vigor and
everlasting usefulness are part of the in
heritance of the redeemed. Feebleas thou
vert on earth, thou wilt be no burden on
the bosom Of Infinite Love, but there shalt
thou find thy longed for rest, and receive
glorious sympathy from Jesus and his ram
somed fold.